


Retreats And Advances

by CaveDwellers



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, I think they would be cute together, I'm sure the canon does not allow for poly trios but what if, If I remember correctly there is canon-typical violence, M/M, also helloooo character study!, but I can't be bothered to fully reread something this old tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:53:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25424203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaveDwellers/pseuds/CaveDwellers
Summary: Sometimes Mikasa needs to make tactical retreats to the training fields that Levi never leaves for some obsolete drills in 3D maneuver gear, but most days all she wants is to be wherever her family is. Made-up post-Titan setting.
Relationships: Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman/Armin Arlert, Mikasa Ackerman/Armin Arlert/Eren Yeager, Mikasa Ackerman/Eren Yeager
Kudos: 12





	Retreats And Advances

**Author's Note:**

> Finally got around to hauling some old fic over from ff.net. This is from 2013! Oh boy.

Most people don’t, but Mikasa likes Levi. She holds no real affection for him, it’s true, but she deeply respects his legendary abilities as a soldier, and she appreciates the fact that they seem to exist on the same wavelength. If Mikasa wants a break from how Eren is never as available as he seems to be, or how Armin always seems to look right through her and understand _everything,_ she knows it’s okay to make a tactical retreat to Levi’s usual haunt at the training fields.

It’s been years since the Titan War’s epic and bloody conclusion, but Levi doesn’t seem to know how to be anything but an obsessively clean soldier. Mikasa has never figured out if he believes the problem might arise again, or if he’s just in a rut that not even 3D maneuver gear can get him out of. It doesn’t matter, she supposes. In truth, most of the time Mikasa doesn’t care enough to think on it. Levi’s always preparing for the continuation of the war the human race barely managed to conclude five years ago, and he’s always at the training fields, and as far as she’s concerned that’s all that matters.

Besides, nothing is wrong with keeping in shape, right? The training drills and techniques Mikasa performs with Levi keep her lean and muscular; it’s a nice bonus.

Mikasa isn’t what you’d call a conversationalist, but neither is Levi. Besides exchanging feedback or instruction, they don’t talk much. Mikasa is pretty sure they both prefer it that way.

“You’re still living with Eren and Armin, aren’t you?” he asks one day, out of the blue. They’re both sitting on the grass in the late spring sunshine, sweaty and drinking water. They aren’t sitting close, and they aren’t looking at each other. If Mikasa hadn’t been so sure that it was Levi’s voice, it might have been easy to pretend as if they were as silent as they always are.

“Of course,” Mikasa says before taking a swig from her canteen. She doesn’t ask, but she does have to wonder where Levi thinks she ought to be instead.

Levi doesn’t say any more than that, so Mikasa lets it go and they both silently agree that this stunted conversation is well and truly dead. Maybe Levi (who, as far as Mikasa can tell, lives in stolid solidarity) is thinking about where he might be, if his Special Operations Squad from the Scouting Legion hadn’t all been murdered by Annie five years ago. It’s only natural to think back on that every once in a while, she figures. She doesn’t do it, but Armin and Eren have both told her that they do, and they’ve told her that others do as well.

Mikasa brushes those thoughts aside, takes another sip of water, stands and says, “Teach me something new, Captain,” she says. “Something no one else has learned in years.”

.:;;:.

Mikasa told Christa (Historia, Ymir’s wife—whatever she’s going by these days) once that her heart had reached its occupancy limit years ago, and it was not accepting new applicants. This status has not changed once in the eleven years since Mikasa settled on it. Her parents are gone, and so are Eren’s, but Eren and Armin are still here. As far as she’s concerned, that’s all the family she needs.

Armin suggested, gently, that maybe Mikasa was afraid to have more than a handful of loved ones because that left her more vulnerable to agony if a titan gobbled one of them up. He had been leading up to the argument that, since the Titan War was over, Mikasa might benefit from letting down the old drawbridge, so to speak.

“Armin,” Mikasa had stated evenly, looking him right into his sweet, well-meaning blue eyes. “No.” What did he care who else she let past her emotional defenses, anyway? It wasn’t like she was going to let him go any time soon.

It’s easier to do now than it had been during the Titan War, but giving your all to protect and support two people can still be exhausting sometimes. Mikasa doesn’t make someone her family halfheartedly—once they’re in, they’re _in,_ and they become her world, all that matters. She can’t spread herself thin by doing that for everyone.

Of course, to be fair, the way in which she gives herself to a person is liable to change over time. It changes as Mikasa does; that’s only logical.

There hadn’t been time or energy to spare on romance during the Titan War. Concocting ways to save Eren with Armin, and protecting Armin from everything else, had taken up all her time. Those two meant everything—who the hell cared what sort of label Connie and/or Sasha tried to slap on it? That was superfluous. Caring about someone didn’t have to mean anything more than that. Mikasa hadn’t wanted to see Eren or Armin die, and she made a point given the semantics much thought.

Besides, they were all so busy with trying to sweep up the damaged pieces of the suddenly empty, obsolete walls of Shina, Rose and Maria; clean up what was left of the cadavers littering buildings and streets before epidemics could break out; rebuilding cities and roads. They all lived in the same room of the same house with their other squad-members out of necessity—there weren’t many buildings that were still habitable, and those that were left needed to be doubly and triply shared. It wasn’t often any of them got to actually spend time in the house, anyway; not when there was so much work to be done. Mikasa slept in a bedroll on the ground as often as she didn’t, in those days.

When that time of cleaning and reconstruction also came to pass, their trio kept together in the same house anyway. They didn’t have anywhere else to go, or anyone else to go to. The late Hannes had called it so, so right when he had said there was an irrevocable bond between them. After all they have been through, one cannot exist without the other two close at hand anymore. To do without is almost physically painful.

They all have it, but Armin is the first to show the unmistakable signs of PTSD. His involuntary shouts strike out in the dead of night. They don’t wake Eren, because Eren is a heavy sleeper. Mikasa, though—she is instantly barging into Armin’s room, swords in hand and adrenaline coursing through her body, eyes scanning rapidly for anyone, anything that might have put him in danger. This response is instinctual for her.

“Mikasa,” he implores. “Mikasa, there is no threat. I-I was dreaming. It… it was all just a dream.”

She startles when he touches the sleeve of her pajama shirt, but she can hear the apology and the deep-seated shame in his voice, as well as the lingering horror from the night terror. Armin is not near as defenseless as he was when they were children—he’s killed and almost been eaten by his fair share of titans, just like her. He’s had to make the tough, sometimes heartbreaking tactical decisions to use his peers as bait for the titans, and then there was what he faced alone at the end of the war… No, Armin isn’t weak. He never has been. There are different kinds of strength, and he has one that Mikasa herself has never been able to grasp.

That Armin’s like this right now means that whatever he saw was horrible, and now that she knows Mikasa can never let him face that terror alone. For one of the two most precious people in her life, she would gladly share that load. Sleep should never be a form of torture.

Mikasa forces her tense, battle-ready body to relax. She pushes the adrenaline away and sets her swords aside. Then she perches herself on the edge of Armin’s bed and says, “Tell me every detail.”

“Oh, I—that’s not necessary, Mikasa.” She can _hear_ the way he is shaking his head. “Thank you, but it’s not. I’ll be fine.”

“You said you _will_ be fine. That implies you aren’t fine now.”

“N-no, but I would never burden you with—”

“Armin,” she says. Her voice is softer now, because his current vulnerability has unconsciously inspired her to be more expressive and open as well. “Please tell me every detail.”

With a breath that is half defeat and half relief, Armin drops down next to her so heavily it’s as if his knees have literally given out from under him. They don’t touch physically, but when he does start tentatively narrating his nightmare Mikasa feels as close to him as she had the day he saw her cry over Eren and it didn’t faze him. They’re even now, she thinks, matched vulnerability for vulnerability.

Armin doesn’t need to discuss the dream with her further, once she’s heard it. He knows that she understands only too well the trauma that is never far enough from their thoughts, and really, that’s all he needs. Understanding intellectually that something is over and truly coming to terms with it, even after nearly six months of genuine peace, are two totally different things. War veterans like Armin and Mikasa know this without ever having to describe it to each other.

After a few minutes of silence, Mikasa gathers her swords and leaves for her room again, and Armin reports the rest of the night being uneventful. But some nights are worse than others. Some nights Mikasa won’t leave because she can tell that, as soon as she does, the demons will find him again. She’s slept on Armin’s bedroom floor more than once, and if she’s honest it benefits more than just him. Mikasa doesn’t dream, but she does notice that, even if she’s sleeping on the floor, she always sleeps better if Eren or Armin are in the room with her.

It takes time before anything more happens. Mikasa doesn’t question or analyze it. One night the trauma of the nightmares is so bad that simply being there isn’t enough, and so she reaches out and threads their fingers together, offering Armin her brand of strength through the calluses on her palms. It feels at once natural and deeply heartfelt, and what’s more is it helps. Mikasa starts holding Armin’s hand more and more, liking how quickly it can quell his hyperventilating as well as how _nice_ it is to make non-violent contact with another human being. It transports her back to a more innocent time, a time where she isn’t as damaged and guarded as she is now, a time where titan shifters like Annie can’t call her a beast.

Armin, of course, has taken why it took nearly a year for her to hold his hand and analyzed it to death.

“I’m just not the sort of man that a woman would want to hold the hand of,” he concludes morosely. He’s so much more confident in himself than when they were children, but when it comes to personal matters there are times where Armin can’t seem to help finding himself lacking.

“That’s not true. I’ve always liked and respected you,” Mikasa replies every time.

“But like this?” he holds up their intertwined fingers and uses them to gesture to their touching knees. “Like _this,_ Mikasa?”

“Maybe,” is all she can say. “Until recently, these sorts of actions have had no relevance or importance to me. Until recently, I was too busy fighting titans and protecting you and Eren to even think about this sort of thing.”

Armin never has a good retort to that, so Mikasa just gives his hand a squeeze to show that there are no hard feelings, and her opinion hasn’t been changed. They’ve guided and protected each other through hell; nobody has their level of trust and understanding. In some ways, even Eren doesn’t know. Armin can come up with as many false or self-deprecating explanations as he wants, but nothing he says can change that.

Now, four years later, Mikasa often can’t detect a tangible reason for Armin to grasp her fingers and press their shoulders together in public, or rest their heads together, but she doesn’t mind it. Truth be told, she likes the physical reminder of the gentleness and affection and total understanding that he has come to represent in her life. It reminds her that she’s still human, even after what the Titan Wars have done to her, and that being human is beautiful and well worth the fight.

.:;;:.

When Bertholdt, as the colossal titan, was killed during the final battle of the Titan Wars, Reiner lost his grip on reality. Not that his grip had been very strong to begin with, but that was the date and time that he lost what little was left. The armored titan went berserk in response to the loss of his childhood friend, but then abruptly changed back into Reiner, who continued the battle fighting against his fellow titans until he collapsed from exhaustion. There was some speculation over whether or not he should be executed for treason, but could someone so confused about who he was really be given a fair trial?

Christa and Ymir take care of him now. Ymir is authorized to shift into a titan and subdue him by force if necessary, but in the five years they’ve had him in their care it’s never come to that. Armin, who goes over with Jean on a regular basis, reports that Reiner is typically under the impression that he is a fully human soldier living in the heat of the Titan War. Sometimes, he is also convinced that he is in love with Christa, although Jean observes that that part seems forced. It’s rare that Reiner remembers who and what he really is, but Armin says the one time he did while Armin and Jean were there, he dissolved into the most heart-wrenching sobs they ever heard. Jean and Armin were quickly ushered out by a wary Ymin while the petite Historia set about caring for the large, uncontrollably sobbing man with all the grace of a mother-figure.

“Connie would have figured out a way to make him laugh and snap out of it,” Jean remarks later, a little bitterly. Connie was killed by Bertholdt in the final battle, just before Bertholdt himself was destroyed.

Armin, who works closely with Jean these days as the tactical advisor to Jean’s leadership, doesn’t say anything to this. He just looks down at his hands in a melancholy fashion. Reiner’s broken sense of reality, and the old memories he dredges up of the times before they all knew what he was, always leave those who visit him a little tender in the aftermath. Jean and Armin continue to visit him though, because “that’s what we owe to the comrade he thinks he is… the comrade we wish he could still be.”

Eren, who has and will never visit Reiner, is nevertheless very curious about how the visits go. He wants every detail, always. He also goes temporarily and conveniently deaf whenever Armin or Jean suggests that he joins them next week. If he does choose to acknowledge that he’s heard what they say, it’s only to rave about what a piece of shit Reiner is, and how tempted he would be to “kill that traitor bastard if I am ever in the same room with him.”

Mikasa knows Eren doesn’t mean that, and he never has. He’s just hurt by Reiner and Bertholdt and Annie and how betrayed he still feels by them. Eren isn’t programmed to understand how someone can suddenly go against people they profess to value, people they have _gone through_ things with. It explains why Mikasa and Armin’s unwavering dedication to him is so precious, because he is the same. That is how Eren functions: once he’s decided something, he doesn’t go back. There is no such thing as a second thought, in his mind. These days he lives by Levi’s words: _no matter what kind of wisdom dictates you the option you pick, no one will be able to tell if it’s right or wrong until you arrive to some sort of outcome from your choice._

This isn’t to say that Eren got out of this war scot-free. Far from it. Mikasa and Armin often find him screaming himself awake, convinced that the sweat coating his skin is stomach acid and one of his arms has been bitten off; or that he’s gone berserk and single-handedly destroyed all of humanity in his titan form. He has flashbacks in broad daylight too, especially if he hears a loud crash he can’t identify the source of. Sometimes it’s all Armin and Mikasa can do to subdue him, and they’re the best there is.

At least he’s here, Mikasa thinks. Even if sometimes he seems far away, mentally, at least he’s _here._

For the longest time, that was all she needed. Just knowing that Eren wasn’t gone. It wasn’t simply relief from having to protect and rescue him all the damn time, it was the fact that he had nothing to hold him here, but he was in this place anyway. All she wanted was to be by his side, and she couldn’t be happier than when he made doing that easy.

“You’ve been in love with Eren from the start,” Armin tells her matter of factly. The first time he says it is six months after the cleanup project. He continues to say it with increasing frequency since they’ve had more time to fall into the routine of being civilians instead of soldiers. “It’s high time you realized it, Mikasa.”

Mikasa touches the red scarf she wears no matter the weather. The scarf from Eren, the piece of him she always keeps with her, and actually considers that for once. Normally she brushes Armin’s comments off—not because she doesn’t value his opinion, but because she simply doesn’t want to deal with contemplating whether or not he’s right.

But would being in love with Eren really be so bad?

Sometimes, yes. Eren is always getting himself tangled up in some headstrong cause. Normally that doesn’t bother her, because she can usually follow along and help, but Mikasa very much minds when his causes take him places that she can’t also go. That’s when having Eren as your family is hard, because sometimes it’s like he’s doing all he can to get away from you. Mikasa knows, intellectually, that this isn’t true, but there are times when knowing that can be as difficult as truly realizing the Titan War is finally and officially over.

She’s not going anywhere, though, so why not call it love? If anyone would know, she supposes, it’s Armin. Armin contemplates and understands these things, Mikasa thinks. He would know if he sees it in her, and he has no reason to lie about it.

“Perhaps,” she says finally. It’s the best she can do. “I don’t see the point in trying to find a name for it, though.”

“Because calling it by its name makes it real,” Armin explains, not unkindly.

Mikasa hums, but does not speak. She doesn’t think there is anything to be said.

“Hey Mikasa,” Eren says a few days later, while Armin is off tag-teaming the control of regional politics with Jean. It’s just the two of them laying in the shade of a tree in the hot summer heat, staring up at the sun leaking through the bright green elm leaves and marveling that they no longer have to fear about being devoured for being out in the open like this.

“Hm?” grunts Mikasa without turning her head to look at her companion.

“Are we in love?”

So Armin _is_ speaking to Eren about this, as well. Mikasa has been wondering about that.

“It’s possible,” she says readily. This is not an awkward conversation for either of them. Eren and Mikasa have known each other far too long, have been through far too much, for something like this to ruin their comfort levels. “I wouldn’t mind it, if we were.”

“I don’t trust anyone else like I trust you and Armin.”

“Likewise.”

“Does that make it love?”

The Peace Generations following the Titan Wars would probably laugh hard at the very concept of this conversation, but for Eren and Mikasa’s generation emotions like this were never high on their lists of priorities. Survival had been much more important.

A relatively cool breeze passes over them, ruffling their hair and tickling their noses. “I think love requires an element of attraction,” Mikasa says, thinking of Ymir and Christa. They’re the only people she knows that are in love (that are in any kind of relationship, period).

“You’re right,” Eren agrees after a pause. Mikasa hears the grass rustle as he shifts, and looks over to see him sitting up. She does so as well, so they’re at eye-level with each other again. He’s looking at her, face screwed up in concentration, as if he’s trying to see her for the first time.

Mikasa waits for this ritual to finish calmly. When his face smooths out again she asks, “Well?”

“I don’t know how to see you as anyone other than the best friend who’s already given me so much,” Eren confesses. Another gust of wind trickles by, ruffling the scarf he gave her and mussing up his dark bangs. “We killed three men within our first hour of knowing each other, Mikasa.”

“I remember.”

“There’s nothing about me that you don’t know. Besides you and Armin, there’s no one else I care this much about.”

“I’m no different.” Mikasa says it, but Eren already knows. Her words are just filling empty space.

Eren shakes his head. “But I can’t see you as a woman to objectify. You’re just… Mikasa.”

She loves the way that he says her name in that way, as if it’s more than a simple form of identification, as if every thought and emotion could be funneled into those three syllables and somehow all fit as comfortably as they were sitting together under the elm now.

“I think,” she says with a wry sort of smile. “That’s the point.”

At first her words seem to confuse him, but then the crease between Eren’s eyebrows disappears. He smiles. The wryness leaves Mikasa’s demeanor as she smiles back, and it’s like finally coming home after the longest day of her life. It’s like she’s finally where she belongs.

Is this what Armin’s been talking about this entire time? Maybe Mikasa should have listened sooner.

**.:;;:.**

Storms never used to bother Mikasa. These days, though, she finds her guts churning as the dark grey clouds gathering overhead. She grits her teeth and quickens her pace home, the sack of vegetables from the farmer’s market swinging in one fist and her other resting on the handle of the short knife she keeps clipped to her belt. It’s not that she lives in a dangerous neighborhood, but she can’t leave home without at least this knife at her side. After living in perpetual danger for so long, the knife is like a talisman of good luck. If something happens and she needs to protect someone, at least she isn’t weaponless. When danger isn’t around, she takes comfort from it anyway. It’s not something she can totally explain.

The first wave of fat raindrops is splattering over her cloak and nose as she unlocks the door and enters the house she shares with Eren and Armin. She finds them on the cushions in the living room. Armin is reading, his book propped up on his knees and his back leaning against Eren’s arm; Eren is trying to work out a crossword puzzle. He has his thinking face on, and every once in a while he grumbles something unintelligible under his breath.

“This doesn’t make sense!” he snaps, hitting the back of his hand on the notepad with more force than is strictly necessary. “This is supposed to be right, but it isn’t!”

Armin tilts his blonde head over Eren’s shoulder to examine what the other has done, nudging Eren’s hand out of the way as he does so. “Your spelling is off, that’s why,” he says in that eternally patient way of his. He points. “This character is wrong.”

“Wha— _oh!”_ Eren’s frustration is suddenly gone as he scribbles in the revised answer with a look of triumph on his face. “Damn these crossword puzzles—why do they have to be so specific?”

“You’re the one that insisted I give you one to keep you occupied during all of the bad weather,” Armin says. “I warned you that you might find them frustrating.”

“Yes, Armin, I know. But now that I’ve started, I have to finish—oh, hi Mikasa.”

“Did it rain on you as you were coming home?” wonders Armin.

“Only a little. I didn’t manage to get the—” She is interrupted by the way the sky seems to split wide open like a torn piece of paper, water slamming into the ground all around them with the sound of galloping horses. Mikasa, who’s relaxed substantially upon being in the same space as Armin and Eren, stiffens and puts her hand on the handle of her knife again, gripping it to gain some sensation of control. She knows what is coming next, a matter of when and not if, and she isn’t looking forward to it. “Well, if you look for yourselves, you’ll know what I couldn’t get,” she says tersely. “I’ll be in the room if you need me.”

She turns and woodenly stalks to the room that had, at one point, belonged to her alone. It’s the master bedroom, so it makes sense that this is the one with the most space and the best facilities. Now it belongs to all three of them. It’s seen more nightmares than a single room should, but it’s also seen more love than a conventional relationship could hold, and Mikasa needs that right now. She needs those memories.

Mikasa doesn’t get nightmares, but she gets flashbacks. Storms, with the thunder of a titan’s footsteps and the flash-flash-flashing of a titan shifter’s transformation, always inspire at least one. Sometimes she can pull herself out of it early on and maintain. Other times she gets pulled under again and can’t save herself. If she can’t pull herself out in the first few minutes, the flashback will go on and on and on, another hundred years of the Titan Wars that only Mikasa knows. She keeps herself under such tight control that the flashbacks don’t hit often, but when they do… oh, do they ever. They’re elaborate alternate universes, every detail accounted for, every nook and cranny filled in. There is no logic she can use to fight her way out of it, no part of her that remembers she actually belongs somewhere else.

She manages to hold onto her sense of self for the first flash of lightning, and subsequent crack of thunder, by staring determinedly at the water droplets that have soaked into her clothing. See, it’s just rain. It’s just the rain. It’s just a rain storm—look, you walked in it earlier, this is the evidence.

Mikasa throws the window open and sticks her head out of it, letting the torrential downpour soak her to the scalp, tasting the rain on her tongue. See, it’s just the rain, that’s all it is. The titans are gone; they’re gone. She keeps the window open so she can remember to use it later and fumbles with the knife at her belt. She should get rid of this now. If she flashes back, and she has a weapon…

Mikasa opens the bedroom door and slides her knife, her talisman of good luck, across the floorboards to Eren and Armin. They’ll know what to do with it. She can’t know where her knife is. Despite her legendary self-control, her hands are trembling as she closes the door again. It’s either terror for what she might see this time, or fear because a flashback has already started. She doesn’t know which explanation is more likely, and that only makes it worse.

Water drips onto her shoulders with reassuring chill as Mikasa takes a deep breath. The fresh, rain-scented air in her lungs does her good, and the tremors in her hands fade. She takes another gulp of air, keeping her eyes firmly focused on the sight of the rain outside the window. There, that’s better. Knowing what triggers the flashbacks is helpful for keeping them at bay. Her success rate will be higher now that she can tell herself with confidence that what she instantly assumes to be titans and her comrades fighting them is only the storm outside.

Mikasa settles on the bed with her red scarf and the little waterproof notebook of hand-written quotes that Armin gave her a few years ago. Forget the knife— _these_ are her talismans. Mikasa never goes anywhere without them, rain or shine, hot or cold. These two objects hold reality in them, the pieces of the only two people in the world who actually matter. These represent all the memories of their childhood, the memories they are making as adults, the future they all have thriving in this Peace Generation. Reminding herself to keep taking deep breaths, Mikasa holds the scarf in one hand and the notebook in the other, and she almost feels normal again. The terror welling up in her torso has quelled. For once, the rain almost sounds pleasant falling outside of the house.

Then the lightning flashes, and the thunder rumbles only a couple of seconds behind, and the Peace Generation is only a sad, feeble hope. It’s a sick fantasy Mikasa can’t understand why she’s entertaining, or even how she started thinking of it. There is a war going on outside, people are being devoured by titans, and all titan shifters except Eren are the enemy.

Mikasa checks herself. Why the hell is she not in uniform? Where are her weapons? She quickly shoves Armin’s notebook into the pocket of her jacket, and slings Eren’s scarf around her neck. She leaps over to the closet, searching for her Scouting Legion uniform with calm, cold purpose. It’s not there—why is that? Did someone steal it? Was it Bertholdt? That bitch Annie? No matter, she can attach her 3D maneuver gear to her civilian clothes if she has to. At the very least, she needs her—yes, there they are.

Mikasa makes swift work of strapping her swords and spare blades to her sides. She brushes her damp, heavy hair out of her eyes—it’s so long! When did it get so long? She makes a firm mental note to be cautious when she gets her 3D maneuver gear, so she doesn’t cause an accident. Or get it grabbed by a titan.

These shoes are no good. They aren’t near sturdy enough. She finds a suitable pair in the back of the closet that are a size bigger than hers, but no matter. They still work. She is marching out of the room in no time, blades drawn, listening for the telltale rumble of titan footsteps headed her way. The air is filled with the noise of the battle she is inexplicably not already a part of, so this is harder than it sounds. Mikasa knows how to manage, though, and manage she does. No titans are approaching right now, but there are a lot around.

Where is Eren? Where is Armin? She needs to find them, to make sure they are okay—

“Mikasa.”

“Armin! You’re out of uniform too—was our squad forced to take a break again, only to experience a titan invasion? I can’t seem to remember,” says Mikasa urgently.

Armin looks sad. Mikasa can’t understand why—unless.

Oh no.

“Armin,” she says slowly. “Where is Eren?”

“Right here, Mikasa,” Eren says. His arm goes around her shoulders in an uncharacteristically familiar fashion. Neither of them can maneuver properly when they’re entwined like this. His demeanor, too, is oddly sad. It’s _defeated_.

Eren is never defeated, even when he knows he’s losing.

“We’ve been ordered by Captain Levi to stand down and hide in the basement, Mikasa,” Armin says gravely. “The titan force is far too big for our meager numbers. We don’t have any secret weapon to use against them, even Eren. It’s our best tactical advantage to hide in the newly fortified basements, where the titans are sure not to find us.”

Mikasa doesn’t understand how the Scouting Legion can stand down. “We’re soldiers,” she says. “How can we hide like civilians?” She notices the flash of a titan shifter changing form, and the subsequent sounds of its movements, all but shaking the ground, sound all around them. Mikasa waits for it to get farther away before continuing, gesturing with her blades. “What if that’s Reiner? He betrayed us!” Here she looks to Eren, specifically. “Don’t you want revenge?”

Something is wrong. Eren is so much taller and broader of shoulder than he should be. His jaw is a little too angular, none of the reminiscent baby fat in his face. He has the muscle mass of a man in his early twenties, not that of a fifteen-year-old boy.

Wait—Armin, too! He doesn’t look like a baby-faced child anymore, but rather a slender young man of about nineteen, looking out with intelligent blue eyes. His shoulders are broader, too, though not as drastically as Eren’s. His golden hair is not in that pageboy’s haircut anymore, but rather longer and pulled back into a pony tail at the nape of his neck.

They sound the same, though. They _sound_ like Eren and Armin, but they aren’t Eren and Armin at all. Is this some new breed of titan? Some cruel joke?

Mikasa, already closing the doors of her emotional stronghold to these strangers who have stolen the voices of her family, keeps her demeanor cool and unresponsive on the outside. She looks down at herself slowly, suppressing panic, checking that she, at least, is still the same.

She’s not. Mikasa is supposed to have the slender, not-quite-grown body of a fifteen-year-old. This body that she is using right now is not hers, though it looks as if it could have been at one point. It is still as fit and well maintained, but her hips are wider, and her hands are bigger. At least her breasts are still as small and familiar as they are supposed to be.

A part of her wants to ask how this all came about. Instead, Mikasa shrugs off the arm of the young man who claims to be Eren and takes a step back to ensure that she has a decent amount of space to herself. Her body moves smoothly, beautifully, with so much more refinement than her fifteen-year-old body ever had. Maybe she doesn’t recognize this body, but it sure as hell recognizes her. Mikasa begins to think that maybe she has an advantage, here.

“Who are you, and why do you claim to be Armin and Eren?”

The two men exchange a look that is at once resigned and heartbroken.

“You don’t remember?” the blonde one who claims to be Armin asks softly. The voice is so, so familiar. Mikasa may not remember, but she _knows_ this voice. It is deeper than her memory says it should be, but it is unmistakably Armin’s, and her body’s ears know it, even at this timbre.

Mikasa replies by narrowing her eyes and shifting her blades so that one is between herself and the blonde one, and one is between herself and the one who has somehow managed to copy Eren’s unique turquoise eyes.

Yet another titan shifter reveals him- or herself, and he or she thunders through the town only a couple of blocks away. If it’s benign, maybe they won’t be eaten. If it isn’t, they could be crushed or devoured without remorse. Right now, it is impossible to say which is more likely, but finding out just what the hell is going on is more important. Mikasa doesn’t move, and neither do the two men. Eren and Armin are her family. If they are dead and being impersonated by these people, then it is up to Mikasa to avenge them with unprecedented fury.

“The notebook in your pocket,” prods the man with Armin’s voice, speaking gently. He pats the part of his torso that is the mirror image of her coat, right where there is a pocket nobody is supposed to know about. “Armin gave that to you, didn’t he? He wrote each word by hand, and you are the only two who know what those words are.”

Mikasa backs away and sheathes one of her swords distrustfully before reaching into the pocket he’s indicated. Sure enough, she finds a waterproof notebook. Mikasa doesn’t remember receiving it, or even putting it in this pocket, but she knows without a doubt that it is from Armin.

How does this man know what’s on her person when even she doesn’t?

“Open it,” he urges, as gentle as ever. “I can read you the first page without even having to look.”

Mikasa doesn’t know why she cooperates, but she does, keeping the one blade held in front of her as she spreads the notebook open to the first page with one hand. She makes sure that not even the tall man with Eren’s eyes can read its contents from here.

Mikasa has never seen this notebook before in her life, and yet somehow she knows every word in it by heart, and she knows it’s written in Armin’s hand, each word gathered and carefully arranged by Armin himself.

“I can’t tell you which demons have found you,” says the person claiming to be Armin, gazing at her with blue eyes never lacking in warmth. “Or which injuries you fear will never leave, but I can tell you that—”

“—It’s raining,” she says with him. Her voice is spoken at a quieter volume than the cool confidence she usually embodies. She closes the notebook with a slap and slips it back into its pocket in her jacket, suddenly all too aware of the fact that her hair is soaked and dripping all over her shoulders. No other part of her is wet.

Mikasa recalls the open window in the bedroom she found herself in, and in that instant her real memories come rushing back to her. She sheathes her remaining blade and works to keep her demeanor serene. “It’s raining,” she repeats in a whisper.

It’s happened again. She’s lost control of herself and gotten sucked up in a flashback. Eren and Armin are lucky this is all it took to get her out of it this time. When she wants to be, Mikasa is more tenacious than Eren. She was once in a flashback for three days before they could get her out, and part of that involved Mikasa fighting Eren himself, convinced that if she killed his imposter the real Eren would come back to her.

“Yes, Mikasa,” says Armin with a small, sad sort of smile. He gestures to the closed glass pane of the window. “See for yourself.”

Mikasa does, even knowing full well that the rain is why her hair is wet. She heaves the window open and feels the spray of shattered rain drops on her hands and cheeks.

It’s the rain, not the titans. Just the rain.

Eren is right there to catch her when she collapses, holding onto her with reassuring security as the tears squeeze out of her eyes. She pushes her face into his broad shoulder to hide this shameful fact, though it’s more to hide it from herself than Eren or Armin. Mikasa doesn’t usually cry, but right now she is so _helpless_. She has no control over her own reality, and it’s the most terrifying notion in the world.

“We’ve been talking, Armin and I,” Eren murmurs, rubbing her back. He doesn’t ask for her to look him in the face, but that is probably because he knows she’s listening. “And we think it’s time we finally left this place.”

“There are too many memories here,” says Armin from very close by. “Too many triggers, for all of us.”

“And Armin and I have always dreamed of seeing the ocean. Of exploring this entire world. It’s ours now, Mikasa. Really _ours._ It’s our human right to at least see it, just once.” Eren’s voice gets quieter, speaking more to himself than her or Armin. “No more being caged birds.”

Mikasa waits for them to tell her more of their plan, but when they don’t, she lifts her head from Eren’s shoulder. She’s dry-eyed now, her shame-induced tears inadvertently wiped away by this announcement. Her arms are still around Eren and vice versa, however, and in this particular moment Mikasa prefers them to stay like this for a little while longer. “When are we leaving?” she asks, apparently needing to state the obvious.

“You don’t have an opinion, Mikasa?” Eren wonders, befuddled.

Armin is silent so that she can explain to Eren for the umpteenth time, “You and Armin are my family. I go wherever you go, wherever that may be. Honestly, Eren, the location doesn’t matter.” She pauses to let this sink in once more, and when it looks like Eren gets it she turns to Armin. “When are we leaving?”

“As soon as we can get the supplies together,” Armin replies with a small, fond smile. He places a hand on the arm she has around Eren’s waist, and the other on Eren’s shoulder. When Eren shifts to also bring him into the embrace with a welcoming arm, Mikasa simultaneously takes his hand and works their fingers together. When Armin squeezes, she squeezes back. Her hair is still damp, and her arm brushes against one of her sheathed swords, but Eren’s hip is pressed into the other and he doesn’t seem to care, so why should she? Eren and Armin never hold her flashbacks against her, just as she never holds their flashbacks and nightmares against them.

They are a family. Helping each other deal with their demons is what families do. At least, it’s what this family does. That, and so much more. What else could Levi see?


End file.
